


v.i.p. experience

by poisonpeaches



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Bondage, Consensual tickling, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Feathers & Featherplay, Fetish, Gangbang, Humiliation, Kink Exploration, M/M, Mind Break, Multi, Mutual Pining, Shibari, Tickle torture, Tickling, Verbal Humiliation, Voyeurism, does it count as dubcon if you agree upon it beforehand, or is it hohoho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24605656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonpeaches/pseuds/poisonpeaches
Summary: Ren knows there are fans out there who think about him in a not-so-innocent way, but has no idea how to react when he stumbles across a thread dedicated entirely to him on a forum for an obscure, albeit harmless, fetish. He reacts, eventually, by giving those fans exactly what they want. It’s a dream-come-true for them, and a nightmare for him -  throw Masato into the mix, though, and Ren hopes he never wakes up.
Relationships: Hijirikawa Masato/Jinguuji Ren, Jinguuji Ren/Other(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	v.i.p. experience

**Author's Note:**

> finally, the masaren fic i promised! i was initially inspired by [this](https://www.deviantart.com/oujigami/art/special-meet-and-greet-842969766) art, but i decided i’d throw the extra bit of masaren in there just to spice things up™. this fic is super campy and over the top just like the drawing it was based off of but i had a lot of fun writing it and i hope you guys have just as much fun reading it! a lot of the interactions that take place is also inspired by the dialogue version of the drawing, which you can find on the artist’s [patreon](https://www.patreon.com/oujigami) (PLEASE SUPPORT HIM)!  
> as always, lots of tickling fetish in this - of the sadistic, torturous variety - so tread with care if that’s not your cup of tea!

Maybe Googling himself that day had been a mistake after all.

In Ren’s defense, he was just bored, he had the day off, and he was curious what his fans were saying about him. How was he to know that on the seventh page of Google search results, he would find a thread dedicated entirely to him on a forum for people who, apparently, had tickling fetishes?

Ren hadn’t expected it, but at the same time, was he _so_ surprised? Not really.

Though the fetish itself was kind of obscure, Ren was no stranger to people online fantasizing about him sexually. And while the thought of being excessively tickled made him break into a nervous sweat, he _supposed_ it made sense. Fetishes equal sex, which is usually preceded by some other form of intimacy. Tickling was an intimate activity, wasn’t it? After all, Ren usually felt flustered after Masato -

He quickly got that thought out of his head. 

Anyways, Ren scrolled through nearly fifty pages of fans pretty much frothing at the mouth over the prospect of getting to run their fingers all over Ren’s sensitive body, after it was revealed by some of the other ST☆RISH members (namely Cecil, the bastard) that he was extremely ticklish. Some were surprised at this fact from a guy with such an aloof, confident front; others didn’t seem dazed at all, claiming that the sexy guys _always_ have a weakness, they’re just better at hiding it.

Numerous fans all voiced different preferences as they described how best they would like to tickle Ren, which parts of his body they’d like to claim for themselves, and how they wanted to see him react, though one sentiment rang particularly consistent throughout all of their lamenting…

“ _I would pay good money to tickle Ren._ ”

And for some reason, some weird part of Ren thought it would be a good idea to let them do just that. An idol’s salary was already generous, especially one of his acclaim, so it wasn’t like he needed the extra money, but it would definitely be a service to his fans, which would help boost his image. He’d probably just donate the money to charity, anyways.

He didn’t expect his management team to like the idea when he pitched it to them, but Ren was now completely naked saved for a pair of boxers, with his arms locked behind his head and his bare feet taut by a pair of medieval-style stocks, so he must have done _something_ right. The ropes criss-crossing his torso were a nice touch - he had never expected his first bondage experience (he never really expected to have a bondage experience, period) to be in shibari of all things, but the staff were all very friendly. Ren felt surprisingly comfortable thanks to their kindness.

“So, you’re really going through with this?”

Had Ren not been tied up, he would have jumped right out of his seat when he heard that familiar, velvety voice coming from his side. He turned his head - sure enough, there was Masato, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Ren with disapproval. Ren was too shocked at his sudden unannounced presence to even offer him a smile.

“H-Hijirikawa… what are you…”

Masato held up his phone, which displayed a headline: _Ren Jinguji of Idol Group ST☆RISH to Hold VIP Tickle Torture Experience With Fans_. “I came across _this_ last night. I couldn’t believe it, so I invited myself down here to witness it firsthand. And if I may ask -” If his expression was disdainful before, it now tightened into a look of utter disgust. “What the _hell_ are you thinking, Jinguji.”

Ren raised his shoulders in a motion reminiscent of a shrug - he couldn’t really pull off a real one with how trapped he was. “Fan service, I guess? I found this tickling fetish forum - no, okay, I know it sounds weird, just _listen_ \- there are so many fans who want to tickle me, they’re even willing to pay _thousands_ of dollars for it. Some of them traveled here all the way from overseas just for this event. Did you know that?”

“You are one of the most famous idols in the country, what on _earth_ could you be needing the extra money for?”

“It’s all going to charity.”

“Can you not just donate some of your salary to charity whenever you please?”

“This’ll strengthen my relationship with my fans.”

“There are other ways of doing that!” Masato cried incredulously, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You are practically naked and going to allow a group of complete strangers to just… just put their hands all over you, with no restrictions, and no means of stopping them.”

“The staff said they’ll step in if things get too intense,” Ren stated. He thought for a moment, then clicked his tongue. “They didn’t really specify what ‘too intense’ means, though.”

“Jinguji, you _hate_ being tickled.”

“I’m not crazy about sweating like a pig under blazing stage lights either, but I do that.”

“Yes, because that is part of your job. This is _not_ what an idol does. I mean, for heavens’ sake, you are supposed to be a role model for younger generations. This borders on prostitution!”

“Look, I’m just trying to give back to my supporters, alright? Loving our fans means loving all of them, even the ones with weird fantasies about us. If you have a problem with this, you can leave. Nobody’s forcing you to be here.”

The two held a mutual glare for what felt like too long, both sets of eyes glinting with a certain anger and dignity. Finally, with an exasperated sigh, Masato declared, “I’m not going anywhere. I am staying right here to ensure you don’t do anything that could damage your own reputation, or the group’s.”

Ren rolled his eyes, fresh out of the energy to continue arguing. “Fine. I guess I can’t stop you.”

He hoped Masato didn’t notice the shade of red that burst through Ren’s cheeks at the realization that the pianist had seen him stripped and in bondage, and was now going to bear witness to him being touched all over by others.

They were disrupted by the click of a door opening. Led by one of the staff, a small group of about seven people began to trickle in and fill the room - quite the diverse group, all of varying genders, ethnicities, and body types, all appearing to be in Ren's general age range. If there was one thing they all had in common, though, it was the gleam of lust in their eyes.

“No fucking way, I can’t believe it’s really him,” breathed out one tall, generously built man with mussed brown hair and a dark stubble outlining his jaw.

A particularly busty young woman motioned towards Masato excitedly upon noticing his presence. “You’re shitting me, we get to tickle Masato too? Two for the price of one!”

“Or maybe he’s just gonna help us tickle Ren? Shit, two of the hottest idols in the world are right here in front of us, and one of them’s gonna tickle the other. Pinch me, I’m dreaming,” a red-haired girl cooed.

Masato huffed. “I will be doing no such thing. I’m simply here to oversee the event and make sure Jinguji does not do anything he will regret later.”

“Yeah, I can’t promise you that,” a man with freckles piped up. “Suit yourself, but if at any point you wanna join in, please feel free.”

Masato had nothing to say back.

The staff had established some strict rules - absolutely _no_ photography or videotaping, and nobody was allowed to touch him before the beginning of the event was marked, though this didn’t stop them from ogling at his exposed body and excitedly chattering amongst themselves about potential strategies.

“Ren, can I… can I just say what an honor this is?” asked a girl wearing glasses. “I mean… I’m kind of embarrassed that you saw all those posts we wrote about you, but… the fact that you’re willing to appease us, it’s just…”

“No need to thank me, little lamb.” Ren flashed her his famous grin, making her heart practically burst forth from her chest. “It’s the least I can do to thank you for all the support and love you’ve given me.”

“Hey, Ren, where are you most ticklish?” inquired a particularly handsome man whose long, dark hair was tied back into a ponytail.

“Uh…”

“C’mon, it’s better if he doesn’t tell us right away. It’s more fun if we try to find it on our own, no?” offered Freckles.

“I bet Masato has insider knowledge of _aaaall_ Ren’s tickle spots. They were childhood friends, weren’t they? We can always ask him if there’s any doubt,” purred one girl, dressed head-to-toe in gothic attire. Masato simply glowered at her.

“Five minutes on the clock, then we set the timer for two hours,” the staff chirped. “Ren, how are you feeling?”

“Like I’m about to get tickle-tortured by my fans,” Ren responded with a cheeky smile.

“And you’d be correct,” Goth said, licking her black-painted lips. “Alright, I’m thinking we don’t all attack him at once right away. Building up to it is more fun.”

“Right on, sister. But who should be the first?” asked Ponytail.

Goth smirked and pointed towards Stubble. “I nominate him. He’s got the largest hands here, easily. I think he should do the honors.”

“Hell yeah! Dibs on his pits.” Stubble raised a fist in victory. “Prepare yourself, Ren, I’m gonna tickle you like you’ve never been tickled before.”

It was then that Ren's wide grin began to falter as he realized exactly what he had gotten himself into.

Two straight hours.

Non-stop tickling.

Shit.

Masato must have noticed the visible change in Ren’s expression. His face broke out into a tight smile that could only be translated as, “ _I told you so._ ” Leaning in closer, Masato placed a hand against Ren’s bare shoulder and whispered directly into his ear. “It’s not too late to back out of this, Jinguji. You do realize that, right?”

“It _is_. They’re already here, they paid for this experience. It wouldn’t be fair to just tell them all to leave n- ”

Ren was interrupted mid-sentence by the jingle of a timer going off. Masato offered him a pout of insincere sympathy. Ren would have punched his face in had his wrists not been tied.

“Alright! Time's up! I’ll be on my way now, since Hijirikawa-san has so generously offered to oversee the event in my place.”

Ren’s eyes widened at this notion. “Wait… so you mean- ”

“Jinguji-san, I wouldn’t just leave you here on your own if I didn’t think you were in good hands. Clearly, Hijirikawa is a trusted friend of yours. He’ll surely intervene if things get out of hand.”

“Of course,” Masato affirmed.

“Great! See you back here in two hours!”

With that, she exited, leaving Ren alone with Masato and a gaggle of fans, who up until this moment he hadn’t known even existed.

“Two hours may seem like a lot, but it really isn’t; I intend not to let it go to waste.” Stubble situated himself behind Ren, beginning to lightly stroke his fingers against the unprotected hollows of his armpits. Immediately, a wave of ticklish shock rushed through Ren’s honey-gold skin, an involuntary grin of absolute hysteria cracking across his face.

“GHEEEHEE!”

“Hooooly shit, such a strong reaction already and I’m barely even _touching_ him!”

If there was one thing Ren had always been bad at, it was keeping his composure while being tickled. If he felt the lightest brush of a ticklish touch against his skin, he would skip the first few stages of blushing, snorting, and biting his lips, instead heading right into the frenzied peals of laughter and thrashing to escape the tormenting hands. In his current predicament, though, thrashing wasn’t the most feasible thing to do, which just meant Ren had to laugh twice as hard.

And that he did. The contact from Stubble’s fingertips was so feather-light, just grazing the surface of his skin rather than digging in hard right away, but Ren’s tanned cheeks were already blooming into a bright shade of red as a strain of harrowed giggles streamed from his mouth.

“Pffhheee… mghmm… heeehEHEEYEEYAHAHAHAHA!!!”

His voice was all over the place as he tried in vain to lean forward, to snap his arms against his sides, to do _anything_ that would shield his poor armpits from the meticulous tickling currently being dished out onto them. But basically every inch of Ren’s sensitive body was held firmly in place. Even the ropes around his wrists refused to come undone in spite of his desperate attempts to pull his hands apart - the staff member who tied the shibari _clearly_ had known what they were doing. The most he could do was merely to turn his head from side to side, which, considering that the focus of his torment was his underarms, didn’t do much to help.

“Gosh, I already knew he was ticklish ever since Cesshi confirmed it in that one interview, but I didn’t think he’d be reacting _this_ much already just from a few soft touches,” Stubble cooed. “I think it’s time we take it up a notch, yeah?”

“NO! N-N… Ngh… nggeheyahahaha! I-It tickles… it… NOOOAHAHAHA!”

“Ohhh, you think _this_ tickles? I’m barely even getting started, Ren. Just you wait, pretty soon your pits aren’t gonna know what it’s like to _not_ be tickled anymore.”

“PLEASE! I-Ihihihiyahaha! I can’t tahahake… I can’t take th… I…!”

“I think it would be wise to give him a break,” Masato offered, his voice gentle - too distracted by the feeling of tickling hands, Ren had forgotten he was even there.

“Pfft. _Fuck. That._ Like I said, we get two hours. I paid good money for these two hours and I intend to spend them to the _fullest_. No breaks,” Stubble decreed. With that, his fingers began to burrow deep, deep, deep into the hollows of Ren’s underarms, nails scratching rapidly at the moist skin like an animal trying to dig a hole in the ground with its paws.

“HHIIIGYAAAAHAHAHAHA! G-GODDDAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” Ren was craning his neck backwards now, his mouth spreading into a massive grin he couldn’t stop nor could he get rid of. “F-FUCKFUCKFUCKFUHUHUHAHAHACK!!!”

“Alright, I think you’ve warmed him up enough.” Goth stepped forward, extending a snowy-pale hand towards Ren’s toned, vulnerable stomach. “Everyone else, feel free to take whatever parts of him you’d like, but remember that we want to _build up_ to something extreme, not just break him right away. Trust me, the minute he finally cracks is gonna be _so_ much more rewarding if we do it like this.”

Black stiletto nails descended upon the contours of Ren’s abdomen, causing the ginger to whine in agony when she began drumming her fingers against his bare stomach tentatively, teasing, like she was just giving him a taste of what was to come. And then, she began to claw, her nails scraping away at the toned muscles with passionate zeal.

Several thumping noises could be heard as Ren rocked his body against the metal he was bolted into, twitching his body what little he could to escape the torture being so expertly applied to his stomach.

“YEEEHEEE!! MMGGHAHAHAHA!!!”

“I think his stomach is worse than his pits,” Goth concluded.

She was right - Ren’s armpits were very sensitive, the majority of his body was in fact, but tickling his torso got an entirely new reaction to come out of him. His laughter reached a new octave, with some high-pitched, girlish squeals and anguished gasps for breath being thrown into the mix. He also put more effort into his thrashing - not that this made it any easier for him to break free of his bonds.

Her fingers crawled all over his midriff, experimentally but with such expertise at the same time. His skin was growing pink and flush, streaked with nail marks like a map of all the areas that had been tickled. Stubble hadn’t let up on the tickling of his pits either, his large hands raking the buttery skin like his life depended on it. Ren was so distracted by the ongoing torment that he didn’t even have the capacity to feel afraid of what would come next.

“HHHHEEEGAHAHA! N-NOT THERE! WaitwaitWAHAHAIT NOHOHOHO!!!” Ren gave an especially intense reaction when she zeroed in on the top of his ribcage, right at the base of his pecs. Her face broke into a grin. She did not comply with his wishes - instead, she paid extra attention to that spot, shaking the skin hard and making her devilish digits comfortable in the ridges between his ribs.

“FFMMMGHEHEHEHEHE!!!”

Masato was actually beginning to look concerned for his red-faced, cackling companion. His brows knit together as he took a step towards the group. “Okay, he’s _really_ sensitive there, I think you should be a bit more gent- ”

“ _Can_ it, Masato. I’m not above tickling you too, and I doubt anyone else here is either. Do you want that? You wanna be in this chair next? Huh? You wanna get tickled to hell and back, just like your buddy here?”

The blood drained from Masato’s face. Though not nearly as sensitive to the touch as his childhood friend, Masato had his fair share of weak spots as well, and it was no secret that he was much more dignified, proper, and concerned with his public image than Ren was. Being in that chair, completely immobilized and devoid of clothing and with strangers’ hands all over him, would be the utmost violation of his personhood.

Goth smirked when her threat proved successful in shutting him up. “That’s what I thought.” No longer discussing the matter, she called over her shoulder to the others, “Hey, anyone wanna come help me out? I wanna make sure every inch of his stomach gets tickled, and two hands isn’t enough to do that.”

It was then that she was joined by the heavy-chested girl, who took great pleasure in dragging her nails across the side of Ren that wasn’t being taken care of by Goth. She neglected the initial stages of just lightly caressing him, instantly scrubbing at his stomach with her nails like she was trying to peel his skin clean off.

There were two hands on his ribs, two on his abs, and two on his armpits, all six tickling as hard and fast as they could. His mind was already starting to feel cloudy, and there were still five more people in that room that hadn’t claimed their plot of territory on his body yet.

“EHEUHUEUHUEHUE AAGGAGHAHAHA NOT THERE NOT THEHEHEHERE EHEHE NOT THE RIHIHIHIBSHHH IHIHIT DICKLESSHHHH AHAHAHA….”

“You’re starting to slur your words a bit, honey,” Busty cooed. Ren’s voice was indeed becoming increasingly muddled. “Are you overstimulated already? We’ve still only taken up a few minutes of our promised two hours, and not everyone in this room has gotten their hands on you yet.”

“EUHUEHUEHUEHAHAHAHA PPBBBLEHEHEASE IT TICKLESSHHH SOHOHOHOOO MUCHAHAHAHAHAAAA….”

“Alright, I’ve had enough of just watching.” The redhead stepped forward, procuring a fluffy white feather from her pocket. “And I’m not leaving this place until I get to have my way with that navel.”

“Are you even _allowed_ to use that thing?” Masato looked at the feather with disgust as if it were some sort of deadly weapon that she was threatening Ren’s life with.

“Uh, yeah. It’s in the fucking confirmation email I got after I bought my ticket. Do I need to pull it up on my phone for you?”

Masato blinked, ignoring her clear sarcasm. “Actually, if anyone _would_ like to show me their email so I can understand how exactly this… _meet and greet_ is supposed to work, then yes. I would appreciate that.”

Redhead actually laughed at that as she took a kneeling position on the floor, to the left side of Ren’s trapped body. “So you showed up to this thing not even knowing the rules? Are you _really_ trying to ‘keep Ren in line,’ or are you just here because of your massive boner for him?” 

Masato’s posture instantly stiffened. “What do you mean by…”

“We’ve all seen it.” Redhead rolled her eyes before turning her attention back to Ren’s flat, exposed stomach; clearly, she had more important things on her mind than bickering with Masato.

She dipped the fluffy point of the plume into Ren’s bellybutton. The ginger responded by wheezing as if he was being choked, azure eyes involuntarily shooting up towards the ceiling.

“Ooh, look how far his eyes rolled up just now! And all I did was stick this feather in his bellybutton. When Cecil-kun said Ren was extremely ticklish, I didn’t think he meant to _this_ extent.” She began moving the feather, at first in a thrusting motion before switching to twirling it between her index finger and thumb, the delicate fronds brushing against the sensitive walls of Ren’s umbilicus as it spun around and around.

Ren was screeching, his stomach quivering as his sensitive navel was so meticulously ravaged. He had nowhere to go, his bondage limited any movement or any chance of escape, and he hadn’t even gotten through the first fifteen minutes of the allotted two hours. Even Masato, who had seemed so ready earlier to allow Ren to suffer the consequences of his decision, looked utterly horrified at the scene playing out in front of him.

That was it. That was Ren’s way out of this. Masato said he would stay here and make sure Ren didn’t threaten the renown of the group. So surely, he would put an end to all of this.

_Right?_

“M-MWAHA… MASA!” he screamed; a nickname he hadn’t used for the other man since their childhood. “MAHAHASAHAHA, MAAAHAHASHHHAHAHAHA HEHEHELP!!!”

Masato was at a loss. As the tickling persisted, Ren’s responses were only growing more ardent rather than fading away. Though Masato wanted so badly to rub it in Ren’s face that he had been right and that Ren hadn’t listened to him, swallowing his pride and putting an end to it would undoubtedly be the right thing to do.

On the other hand… they hadn’t even hit fifteen minutes, and the situation hadn’t yet reached a particularly _extreme_ point. Sure, Ren was red in the face and laughing maniacally, but he was just really, _really_ ticklish. He didn’t look like he was about to pass out, or wet himself, or anything of the sort. So was stepping in _really_ necessary?

“Masa’s not coming to save you, sweetheart.” It was another member of the group who had said this - the girl wearing glasses, who was now equipped with a sharp feather in each hand. A sadistic smile eclipsed what had once been kind and inviting features, her eyes swimming with hunger.

“And it seems there’s one more part of you that needs attention.”

She motioned towards Ponytail and Freckles, who stepped up, each brandishing a hairbrush and smirking darkly. Ponytail’s had soft bristles, while the one Freckles was holding was made of plastic.

“I think all three of us have the same idea,” Freckles hummed.

“I think we just might. Tell me, Ren…” came the sultry voice of Ponytail. He curled his index finger into a hook and placed his nail against the ball of Ren’s foot, before dragging it down to the ginger’s heel. “Are your feet ticklish at all?”

Ren’s response to the seemingly innocuous motion was to let out a shriek unlike any noise he had made up until that point, like the sound was literally being ripped from his throat. The three remaining members of the group passed a knowing look amongst themselves.

The expression clouding Ren’s face at that moment could only be described as panic, his violent thrashing commencing yet again with renewed vigor. The tickling in other areas of his body still hadn’t been put on pause, nor had the crazed laughter pouring from his mouth, so his begging was virtually unintelligible. He cackled and drooled and could only repeat a slew of gibberish that sounded somewhat reminiscent of “not there, not there.”

“Looks like it.” Glasses smirked.

Ren tried desperately to pull his feet from the stocks, but they were securely locked in. Even each of his toes had been individually bondaged, robbing him of the liberty to even curl them in to protect himself, or wiggle them in response to the tickling.

Each of the three remaining groupies took a position in front of Ren’s bare soles, with Ponytail taking his left and Glasses and Freckles both joining at his right.

Masato knew from personal experience that although Ren’s entire body was sensitive, namely his upper body and torso, touching the ginger’s feet would elicit a new kind of reaction from him, a much more intense one. Even Masato hadn’t gone there in years. Despite his earlier teasing, he took pity on Ren. Things would end in disaster if he didn’t step in fast.

“Okay, everyone, seriously, you probably shouldn’t- ”

Masato’s protests fell on deaf ears. The brushes were placed against the balls of Ren’s feet - then, without warning, they began to move, up and down, up and down the taut soles.

Masato thought Ren’s eyes were going to pop right out of their sockets with how wide they were. His jaw was just about becoming unhinged, his reddening face damp with sweat and tears and drool as screams of laughter flowed from him like water from a broken dam. Masato could only imagine how badly Ren’s throat was hurting right now, and how hoarse his voice was going to be in the aftermath of all of this; he was surprised Ren’s laughter hadn’t yet gone completely silent due to lack of oxygen.

“God fucking _damn_ , he was already going crazy from the upper-body tickling so you’d think that’s where all his sweet spots are, but this is better than I imagined.” Masato could almost see the hearts floating in Freckles’ eyes as he maneuvered the brush at an illegally fast pace, gazing at Ren hungrily to pinpoint which spots would give him specific reactions.

Glasses had taken to sawing the feathers between Ren’s trapped toes, making an uncharacteristically high-pitched squeak come out of him. “Aw, poor Ren, you’re so fucking ticklish, aren’t you? Does that tickle, baby? Does it tickle when I feather this spot just like this? Hmmm?”

Her movements had no consistency. She kept him guessing as she alternated between dragging the feathers slowly and gently, stroking his skin with an artist’s precision and flicking them against him in a way that surely would have hurt had they been replaced with something made of metal or rubber.

“MMMBBGGLAHAHAHAHA… N-NO… A-AHAHAHANYWHEHEHERE ELSE J-J-JUST NOT THEHEHEHAHAHA!!!”

“I think he said to go harder,” Redhead singsonged, reaching with her free hand to scratch at the spot right beneath Ren’s toes.

“That can be done,” Ponytail purred. Like a well-oiled machine, they scrubbed at his arches like they were trying to clean a floor, bristles digging into his flushed skin in a way that would no doubt leave a mark later.

They were going to kill him. Masato was sure of it. Ren Jinguji was going to die today, and it was going to happen right before his eyes.

This was all Cecil’s fault. If he hadn’t gone ahead and shared Ren’s embarrassing weakness with the world in that stupid interview, Ren would be doing something normal right now, something like starring in a cologne commercial or teaching orphaned children how to play the saxophone or doing _anything_ that didn’t require his almost naked body to be explored by fans who showed no intent of stopping any time soon.

When - or if - Ren made it out of here, Cecil was definitely going to receive a stern talking-to.

“Wait.” They all stopped as the goth’s domineering voice rang out through the room, generously granting a much-needed break to a sobbing Ren. He looked as if he were in another plane of existence as he stared listlessly to the ceiling, panting and gasping to take back the air that had been stolen from him.

“Check it out, guys.” She licked her lips, pointing to him. When they all followed the direction of her fingers, there was no way they could have missed what she was referring to - Ren’s exposed nipples were stiff as rocks, a twitching lump visible in his boxers.

“No fucking way!” Experimentally, Redhead wiggled the feather back into his navel.

“GHEHEHE!”

Just as they’d all suspected, there was a notable convulsion beneath the gray fabric of his underwear.

“Ha! Here I was thinking he’d ban us from going to another ST☆RISH event ever again after this, but nope, he’s been loving every minute of it,” Goth snickered.

“Aw, Ren, you’re so cute!” Stubble’s hands dove back into Ren’s armpits, causing the ginger to choked out another helpless guffaw. “You like it when your loving fans tickle you everywhere? This is just so much fun for you, isn’t it!”

“You think it was the tickling that turned him on, or because Masato was watching?” Freckles wondered, fluttering his fingers against the pads of Ren’s toes. “Or a combination of both?”

“Don’t know, don’t care; we managed to get him hard as rock and that’s the important thing.” Glasses removed her feathers from Ren’s feet - slowly, making sure it was enough to tickle - and directed them towards a new area, one that had been previously untouched by any other member of the group. One that neither Ren nor Masato had expected.

Ren’s vociferous giggles returned as soon as he felt the fluffy hairs swirling around his erect nipples. Masato’s hand flew to his mouth, his eyes expanding to the size of dinner plates. This was _not_ okay. He could not just sit back and allow these fans… no, these _delinquents_ , to assault Ren in such a vile way. He couldn’t.

“Alright, that’s quite enough,” he snapped after taking a deep, shaky breath. “I don’t think you should be touching him there, regardless of- ”

“Read the fucking fine print,” she responded without looking at him or letting up on the precise brushing of Ren’s nipples, her voice calm despite the bite behind her words. “It says we’re allowed to tickle him _anywhere_. Literally anywhere. Which includes these cute, ticklish nipples of his.” The last comment about Ren’s nipples was directed to the ginger specifically, spoken in a sickly sweet tone.

“Just because you _can_ doesn’t mean you _shoul_ \- ” He was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of scissors snipping. To his horror, Goth had brought a pair with her, which she was currently using to cut through Ren’s boxers.

“ _Excuse_ you, just what on earth do you think you’re doing!?”

“Just giving him some air. Don’t worry, he’ll be appreciative later.”

With one final slice, the underpants fell to the floor in a tattered gray pile, and Ren’s throbbing length sprung free. There was the slightest stain of dampness on the inside. Masato wasn’t sure if it was urine or precum, but didn’t think he wanted to know either way.

“Damn, he’s harder than a high school boy in the girls’ locker room,” Busty whistled.

She was objectively right about that - Ren’s manhood was reaching towards the ceiling. Admittedly, this wasn’t the first time Masato had seen it (he had walked in on Ren masturbating one time, an incident they both _dearly_ wished to reverse time and prevent from happening), but he was only just now taking in the sight of what it _really_ looked like; both long and thick. Masato could even see a few veins running through it.

He wanted so badly to look away. To put an end to all of this. To shove these perverts, these degenerates, away from him and tell them that the event was over, there would be no more tickle torture and he would be contacting the police if they didn’t comply. They were violating Ren in the most animalistic of ways, and Masato himself was violating him just by watching. But the minute his erection came into view, it was like Masato physically couldn’t do or say anything, his body being possessed by an incredible heat.

“This hard already, and we were only just getting started,” Ponytail mewled.

“Alright, guys.” Redhead clapped her hands together. “Wanna see what would happen if we all just tickled as hard and fast as we could?”

“I don’t think- ”

Masato was silenced with a hand held to his face by Stubble. “I like that idea. I like it a lot.”

“Alright, I’ll count to three and then we all just tickle the shit out of him.” Redhead grinned.

“Please don’t,” Masato mumbled, sounding scared, as if he were the one being tickled.

“One…”

Ren was panting like a dog, his eyes bubbling with tears and nose dripping with snot.

“Two…”

Ren whimpered.

“Three!”

Ren was given the briefest moment of freedom as they all removed themselves from him, but that freedom was ripped away just as quickly as it came. The feathers, the brushes, each wickedly talented pair of hands all returned to his naked form, moving faster and digging into his vulnerable skin harder than ever before. 

A blood-curdling scream broke through the air, followed by a slew of helpless giggles. Ren looked like he was going to burst a lung at any second now. He screeched, he sobbed, he blubbered, but mostly, he laughed. Anyone else’s laughter surely would have gone silent by this point, but Ren was still reacting as if the torture had only just begun. Was he only getting more ticklish as time progressed?

As for Masato, he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take - “he” referring to both of them. The pianist was about to reach a breaking point just from watching this whole ordeal play out in front of him, and he could only imagine the limits Ren was being pushed to right now. Masato bit his lip as he took a step forward, fully prepared to physically shove the others away from Ren if they didn’t listen to him.

“… D-DON’T…” Ren gurgled.

Masato reached a hand out, about to grab Freckles by the shoulder.

“DON’T STOP!!!”

The blue-haired man stopped dead in his tracks, pupils sinking into his widening violet eyes. Did he just…

“MMGGHHEHEHE YES! YEHEHEHESSS TICKLE HARDER!!!!”

What was once the pained expression on Ren’s face had morphed into one of undeniable pleasure. His tongue had rolled out past his lips, dollops of drool sliding down his chin. His eyes rolled up until only a sliver of the sky blue irises could be seen on top of all the white, shimmering with the sting of mirthful tears. And the most jarring of all was his flinching member, which danced in anticipation for his merciless ticklers’ next moves, flinging up to seek further stimulus each time they hit a particularly sensitive spot.

Masato’s eye twitched; then, gradually, a look of fury passed over his features.

Ren really had been enjoying this the whole time.

That sick, perverted _bastard_.

Masato no longer cared about putting a stop to the event. If Ren wanted them to keep tickling him, then that they would. But Masato would be sure to have his own way with him, too.

He shoved past the fans, who looked on in shock, but didn’t cease the tickling. Masato kneeled down right in front of Ren’s bare torso, extended his nimble fingers, and began to scuttle them rapidly all across Ren’s abdomen, up his sides, and into the recesses of his underarms before bringing them back down and repeating the pattern over again.

“MMMBBGGLAHEHEHEHE!!!”

“What’s wrong? Are you too ticklish to handle it? Or are you asking for more?”

If Ren’s limbs weren’t immobile, he most likely would have collapsed on the ground by now. Masato was sure that this was indeed taking things “too far”; he didn’t care. Ren had brought this upon himself. Now, he was going to fully suffer the consequences of his actions.

“Oh, you take it _so_ good, Jinguji,” Masato hissed, spreading his fingers further apart so he could reach every little hidden nook in Ren’s monstrously ticklish body. “You just _love_ having your body on full display and tickled all over by a bunch of people you don’t even know. You’re a sick man, Jinguji. I knew you were a pervert, but never to this extent.”

The sound of Ren’s body knocking repeatedly against his binds could be heard as he struggled to break free like a fish removed from water.

“What about when it’s me, hm? Do you enjoy being tickled by your bandmate? Do you like it when your oldest friend abuses his knowledge of all your ticklish spots?”

“EEHEEHEHEGEHEMMMHAHEHEHE!!!”

“Use these.” Masato felt a tap on his shoulder. When he turned around, Glasses was offering him two sharp feathers - apparently, she had brought extras. He plucked them from her hands, too distracted by his current mission to even offer her a thanks.

“Let’s see how ticklish you are here.” He experimentally dragged one of the feathers along Ren’s frenulum. The noise that came out of the saxophonist was indescribable.

Masato was too frustrated to even crack a smile, much unlike the rest of the group, who looked on with the most maniacal grins plastered to their faces. It was hard not to have such a reaction when you were witnessing one of your idols brutally tickle another, after all. Masato’s feathers took to Ren’s anguished cock, one of them lightly teasing his frenulum while the other flicked back and forth against his testes. Ren had been reduced to a cacophony of laughter and moans within seconds.

“You want more?” Masato snarled. “That can certainly be arranged.”

Ren was losing himself at the feeling of his ticklish cock being so carefully and precisely abused by his long-time friend and crush. A new wave of giggles rushed out of him when the rest of the group picked it back up with just as much vigor and passion as they had before. Goosebumps rippled through his tan skin, his insides burning with a familiar heat. It felt like Masato and the others had managed to get into his brain and tickle his very _being_. But in spite of everything, in spite of how humiliating this scenario was and how insanely ticklish he was, Ren didn’t want it to stop. If anything, he wanted quite the opposite.

The feather on his glans began to friskily poke at the tiny slit on top. Ren whined before dissolving into another fit of shrill laughter.

“ _How_ are you this ticklish,” Masato sighed. “It shouldn’t be humanly possible. I don’t know how much longer you can take… I’m certain your ticklishness will be the death of you one day.”

“BBBLLLRRRMMGMMGMGEHEHEHE!!!!”

Each chaffing remark from Masato was met with another moan, another guffaw. It wasn’t long before his member began to tremble like it was about to erupt with something - lo and behold, it was.

“Holy shit, guys! He’s gonna- ”

“No fucking way.”

If Ren’s toes hadn’t been tied, he would have curled them as he let out a thunderous cry, rolling his head back as far as he could in his current predicament. Each member of the group stepped back to give him some room as a streak of clear fluid shot from Ren’s convulsing prick. Masato moved away as fast as he could, but not quick enough to avoid a droplet of semen landing on his pale cheek, right below his signature teardrop mole. Masato could only scowl in odium, flicking it away with a finger.

“Ha! Holy shit, did he really _come_ from all of this?” Goth laughed. “I never would have guessed he loved it _that_ much.”

Ren was heaving, his head hanging limply from his neck like a rag doll. Thankfully, they were merciful enough to let him regain his breath before they took things any further - Masato included. After a few sputters and coughs, Ren lifted his head to look them all in the eye, then spoke, his voice gruff and hoarse. “Th-Thank you… all for…” Another strained gasp. “… for coming today. I hope you…” He gulped, probably to lubricate his throat with his own saliva from how dry it was. “… enjoyed yourselves.”

Before any of them could say a word, Masato coughed out a laugh, approaching the tortured ginger with his feathers in tow. “Don’t be silly, Jinguji.”

Ren’s blue eyes followed the pianist as he knelt back down in front of him, his lips parted and cheeks marred with trails of dried tears.

“Haven’t you looked at the timer?” Masato ran a feather along the curve of Ren’s inner thigh. A startled mewl sounded from the other man. “There’s still at least another hour left.”

* * *

Masato didn’t want to face Ren right now. He would rather crawl under a rock and die, to be frank. But death wasn’t an option. The two hadn’t spoken to each other, or at least hadn’t had a _real_ conversation, since the incident. Masato was sure that they were avoiding one another like the plague - at least, that was the case on his end. But Masato had behaved abhorrently at the meet and greet, and he needed to take accountability for his actions. He would understand if Ren never wished to speak with him again, but the two of them were still colleagues. Masato would at the very least try to make amends, even if that meant forgetting it ever happened and maintaining a strictly professional relationship.

Masato marched into their shared room, feeling equal amounts of dread and relief when he was met with the sight of Ren casually throwing darts onto the board he’d hung up on his side of the room. The ginger always called darts his “hobby,” but Masato had known Ren long enough to know he really only ever used them if he was stressed or needed to get his mind off something. Masato hoped he wasn’t the reason, but knew he probably was.

“Jinguji.”

Ren looked up. “Hm? Oh, hey, Hijirikawa. What is it?”

Masato took a deep breath, folding his hands together. “I believe I owe you an apology.”

Ren’s brows crinkled into an expression of genuine confusion. “For… what?”

“At that… _meet and greet_ …” He still seemed reluctant to call it that. “I… my actions can only be described as barbaric. Not only did I humiliate you, I did things to you that I wasn’t entirely certain you approved of. I mean, my reason for being there was to make sure you _didn’t_ tarnish the group’s reputation, and… I did just that, didn’t I? I know you probably won’t forgive me, which is fine, but please know that I deeply regret- ”

“ _Masato_.”

The pianist couldn’t remember the last time Ren had used his first name, but there it was, spoken in the warm, sultry voice of the man Masato was harboring ever-growing complicated feelings for. The man in question was currently sauntering over to his childhood friend with a small smile gracing his face, only to brush a rogue lock of midnight blue hair behind Masato’s ear when he finally reached him. “It’s _fine_. Really.”

“If it’s so ‘fine,’ then why have you been ignoring me all week?”

Ren sighed and scratched the back of his head. “I thought _you_ were upset with _me_. I mean, you kinda did keep calling me sick and perverted at that meet and greet, so you can’t really blame me for thinking so.”

Masato blushed. “It was all very heat-of-the-moment… I didn’t really mean anything I said to you. And I regret everything I did back there.”

Ren shrugged. “I don’t.”

Masato blinked, his brows knitting together to form an expression more reminiscent of confusion than rage or anger. “You liked it?”

“If I didn’t, I would have told you to stop. Not begged you to go harder.”

In spite of himself, a smile tugged at the corners of Masato’s lips. Unable to resist, he reached out and gave Ren’s side a small tweak, chuckling lightly at the squeal he gained in response before trailing a finger up his side. “So, me… _tickle-torturing_ you… was an experience you found to be pleasant.”

“I don’t know, actually.” Ren clucked his tongue, and their gazes met. “Maybe you should do it again so I can be sure.”

The two held a mutual glare for what felt like too long, both sets of eyes glinting with a certain longing and hesitance. Finally, they smiled at each other.

Masato locked the door behind them, making sure to put up a “do not disturb” sign on the knob outside before he did so.

They’d have to thank Cecil later.


End file.
